Again you complain of my silence, in a letter written with the object of
overwhelming me with abuse; and you mix up sarcasms (through which your
childish curiosity is very transparent) with philosophical remarks which
reveal the snobbishness of your nature. In fact, from the tone of your
letters, one might imagine I was threatened by strange complications,
and that you were hoping every morning to read the account of some
catastrophe. For once in a way your longing for an important event will
not be disappointed, for I have a weighty piece of news for you. As it
belongs to the most strictly moral order of events, you may listen
without any anxiety.
As you are aware, my aunt and uncle came to Paris a fortnight ago, and
will stay here all the winter. The house in the Rue de Varennes has
resumed its gay honours; we give receptions, dinners, and everything
else that you are familiar with, but embellished this time by the
presence of the charming Countess of Monteclaro, who supplies that
lively element of family life which we rather missed formerly. My aunt
has discovered here a young cousin of hers, Count Daniel Kiusko, a
capital fellow, whom I have quite made friends with.
Having given you these details, I will now proceed with my story.
The other morning, after breakfast, as I was about to return to my room
(for whatever you may believe, I am working hard just now), my uncle
stopped me, and without any further preliminaries began: "By the way, André, I expect Madame Saulnier and my god-daughter Anna
Campbell, your betrothed, to dinner this, evening. I should not mind
letting you make her acquaintance. If you happen to be curious to see
her, don't make any engagements at the club, and come home punctually."
"Really!" exclaimed my aunt with a laugh, and without giving me time to
answer: "from the way you put it, one might think you were talking of
some doll that you intended to offer André for his birthday!"
"What the deuce do you mean by that, my dear?" asked the captain in his
imperturbable way.
"I mean," said my aunt, "that this little acquaintance which you wish
they should make with each other before you marry them, seems to me a
very necessary preliminary."
"Pooh! They've still a good year before them! Besides, this little
matter has nothing to do with romance." Then turning to me he continued;
"Well, if that suits you for to-day, I have given you notice."